The Dying of the Light (36 page)

Skulduggery overtook a slow-moving tractor and guided the Bentley round a hairpin bend. “We don’t know,” he said. “There are dozens of hidden entrances to those caves. She could be anywhere.”

There was an edge to China’s words that had not been there before. “How long before she’s at full strength?”

“Days, if we’re lucky. China, we need to get Ravel ready to shunt. We’re out of time.”

“Agreed,” said China. “Get back here now.”

The call disconnected, and Skulduggery looked at Valkyrie.

She kept staring out of the window. She was fully aware of how hyper she’d been, and now how quiet she’d become. But the mood had settled over her like she was in the shade of some great monolith, and there had been nothing she could do to stop it.

She’d returned the Echo Stone to its cradle. She had hoped a simple recharge would bring Gordon back. It hadn’t. The stone was empty. There was no coming back from that.

Her eyes were tired. They stung, and wanted to close. She longed to go to bed, to curl up under the covers and never come out.

“She’s going to win,” she muttered.

“Nonsense,” Skulduggery said.

“We can’t stop her. You know we can’t.”

“She said it herself, it’s going to take some time for her new body to acclimatise to her power. She’s in a weakened state. What’s the first thing I taught you about getting into a fight?”

“Never fight on their terms.”

“And this is exactly what I meant. In a few days, she’ll be back to full strength and ready for us. So we don’t give her those few days. We fight her when she’s not ready. Are you with me?”

“I suppose.”

“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“I’m really not in the mood.”

He jammed his foot on the brake.

“Jesus!” Valkyrie said, bracing herself as the Bentley screeched to a halt. She stared at him. “What the hell did you do that for?”

He tilted his head. “I lost my hat,” he said. “You haven’t once asked what happened to it. I’ll tell you what happened to it. I lost it. As we speak, it’s probably making its way down the digestive tract of a particularly fashion-conscious Phalanx Tiger. I await your condolences.”

“Uh … I’m sorry about your hat.”

He leaned closer. “Why? It’s only a hat. It’s a garment, made specifically for the head. True, my dear friend Ghastly Bespoke made it just for me, but it’s still only a hat, and I have many more that he made for me.”

Valkyrie frowned. “Right. What’s your point?”

“Why do I need a point? I mentioned it simply because it’s something that happened. But things happen all the time. Some of them are good things. Exciting things. Things like seeing a dragon. Things like Tanith covering your escape. Other things are bad things. Distressing things. Things like losing a hat your friend made for you. Or losing the last echoes of your uncle. Things happen, Valkyrie, but life carries on regardless of how we feel.”

“Are you trying to cheer me up? Somehow?”

“You don’t need to be cheered up. You just have a decision to make. Allow yourself to wallow in misfortune …”

“Or?”

He shrugged. “Or don’t.”

They started driving again.

“That was your pep talk?” she asked.

“Sort of. I also wanted to talk about my hat. But mostly it was a pep talk. Did it work? Are you pepped? I could give you another one, if you like. About a torn jacket.”

She sighed. “The first one was fine, thank you. What’s that song you’re always whistling? ‘Accentuate the Positive’?”

“I have literally whistled that
once
since you’ve known me.”

“Whatever. So let’s do that.” She clapped her hands, sat up straighter, forced herself out of her black mood. “OK then, so in this new spirit of positivity, let’s brainstorm. Let’s kick around some ideas. How will we defeat Darquesse?”

“The God-Killer weapons.”

“OK, yes, good. Anything else?”

“I’ve been thinking about this,” Skulduggery said, “and I’ve come to the conclusion that we should bring Melancholia out of her coma.”

“That’s it!” said Valkyrie, clapping her hands again. “See,
that’s
the kind of brainstorming we need! Now do you have any ideas that are actually useful? Because obviously waking up Melancholia is a truly dreadful one.”

Skulduggery said nothing.

“Oh, come on,” said Valkyrie. “We can’t wake her up. She’s the Death Bringer. Sure, when you get to know her, she’s not that bad, but she’s unhinged and she tried to kill us. Really? Waking her up is your best idea? Something tells me she’s not a morning person.”

“We’re going to need her as reinforcements.”

“So who’s going to convince her to help us?”

“Well … you’re probably the closest thing she has to a friend.”

“That’s the saddest thing I ever heard.”

“I know,” said Skulduggery. “I know.”

rskine Ravel screamed.

The doctors were giving him foul-smelling liquids to drink with his meals, to make sure he didn’t rupture his vocal cords. He did a lot of screaming. He did a lot of screaming and sweating and crying and begging. Twenty-three hours of agony a day. This was what it looked like.

Valkyrie felt no pity.

She watched the Cleavers drag him into the room. Dressed in prison orange with his hands shackled before him, he writhed and kicked, but they had no trouble holding on. He needed a shave and a haircut.

Creyfon Signate walked over. Unlike Ravel, he no longer wore his jumpsuit. He was now a free man, dressed in a free man’s clothes. More than that, he was a free man with a purpose. “I’ve already shunted over a few times,” he told them. “It should be fine. The Sanctuary in the other dimension is a ruin, but this room is intact with an easy climb to the surface. No one around – that I could see anyway.”

Skulduggery nodded. “The Cleavers will protect you if anyone turns up with bad intentions. Return here every four hours and we’ll brief you on the situation. We’re sending a doctor with you to monitor his condition, but the moment you shunt, Ravel’s pain should disappear. This means you cannot let your guard down. Understand?”

“I can handle it.”

“Ravel was a Dead Man,” Skulduggery said. “He’s one of the most dangerous individuals I’ve ever known. Do not take your eyes off him.”

Signate nodded, suitably chastised. “Yes, sir.”

“Avoid contact with the natives. The world you’re shunting into is run by Mevolent. The mortals are his slaves. The Resistance is crumbling. It is not a place you want to find yourself for any length of time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“China is working on something that will hide Ravel from Darquesse’s view once he’s back. When you return, you’ll shunt him directly to this room. If she senses his presence before we’re ready, Darquesse will come straight for him.”

“You can count on me.”

“Good luck, Mr Signate.”

Signate gave them a small bow, and rejoined his group – eight Cleavers, two sorcerers, one doctor, Signate himself and Erskine Ravel.

“I quite like the fact that he’s in pain,” Valkyrie said.

“Me too,” said Skulduggery.

“You’re sure the pain will end once they shunt?”

“It should.”

“Damn.”

“Damn indeed.”

Signate closed his eyes. The group began to flicker.

A moment later, they were gone.

Valkyrie sighed, and followed Skulduggery out. “Any word on when Melancholia will be awake?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” he answered. “So you get to spend the night at home, and I get to change into another suit. One with a hat.”

“All your suits have hats.”

“Not this one,” he said quietly. “Not any more.”

She glanced at him. “What do you think Darquesse will do to Tanith? I mean … will it be bad?”

“I don’t know. Sincerely. Darquesse has proven herself to be most unpredictable. As has Tanith, for that matter. We can only hope.”

“I don’t like hoping,” Valkyrie said. “I prefer knowing.”

They crossed into warmer, busier corridors, and walked up to Saracen Rue talking with Gracious O’Callahan and Donegan Bane.

Saracen saw them coming. His usual smile was absent. “China told us,” he said. “Just when we think we’re in the lead …”

“How is the search for the Remnants going?” Skulduggery asked.

“Badly,” said Gracious. “Dexter and Dai know our strategies. We still have a few tricks up our sleeves – you don’t get to be Monster Hunters without being incredibly sneaky – but they’ve vanished into the woodwork again.”

“And we’re not as mobile as we’d like,” Saracen added. “Any sign of Fletcher?”

Valkyrie shook her head. “We don’t know where he is. He’s not answering.”

“We messed up.” Saracen rubbed a knuckle against his forehead like he was fighting off a headache. “We went in unprepared and we paid for it. We went looking for the usual signs of violence and unrest. We expected the Remnants to have taken hosts. But they haven’t. There have only been a few. A handful. I’ve never seen them exhibit this kind of behaviour before.”

Donegan nodded. “It’s almost … disciplined.”

“Darquesse may have something special in mind for them,” Skulduggery said. “But as for right now, if they’re not causing havoc, let’s take the opportunity to regroup and restrategise. We have other things that need our attention.”

Valkyrie watched Saracen. His jaw was tight.

“Has Ravel gone?” he asked.

Skulduggery looked at him. “Yes. If we’re right about that psychic link, Darquesse should be aware that he’s fallen off the grid. She’ll come looking for him, but not yet. She has to build up her strength first. Our task is to build up our strength faster. We need the city’s shield ready to activate. We need the fortifications secure. We need people in place. Once that’s done, we’ll bring Ravel back. Darquesse should sense him again, and hopefully she’ll be compelled to re-establish that pain link. But she’ll have to do that in person.”

“You’re expecting her to just walk into Roarhaven before she’s at full strength?” said Saracen.

“Yes.”

“You expect her to do this because of her hatred for Ravel.”

“Among other things, yes.”

“OK then. But can you do me a favour? Can we spring the trap
after
she re-establishes that pain link?”

“We’ll take what we can get,” Skulduggery said, his voice grim.

Saracen nodded, walked away.

Valkyrie looked at Gracious and Donegan. “We saw a dragon,” she said excitedly.

They took a moment to stare at her.

“What?” said Donegan.

“A dragon,” she said. “A real one. It lives in the caves. We saw it, didn’t we, Skulduggery?”

“We saw it,” Skulduggery said, almost reluctantly.

Gracious’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Seriously? You seriously saw a dragon? A proper dragon?”

“It was huge,” Valkyrie said, grinning. “Bigger than anything. It had wings, and I think it breathed fire.”

“A fire-breathing dragon!” Gracious said, clinging to Donegan’s arm. “We must see it! Where is it?”

“Down this bottomless pit.”

“Damn it! I hate bottomless pits! I was trapped down a bottomless pit for
days
once.”

“That wasn’t bottomless,” Donegan said.

“It felt bottomless.”

“You were at the bottom.”

“Well, it was a long way down.”

“This pit really was bottomless,” Valkyrie said. “I think it was anyway.”

“A fire-breathing dragon living in a bottomless pit,” Gracious said happily. “We should give it a name. All great dragons have names. Smaug. Drogon. Fin Fang Foom. Puff. They all have names.”

“Gordon,” said Valkyrie.

“Gordon the dragon?”

“He would have loved that.”

Gracious nodded. “Yeah. That’s nice. But how about Destructorface?”

“Gordon it is,” said Donegan, leading Gracious away.

“Spreading joy is a special gift in dark times,” Skulduggery said, his hand on Valkyrie’s shoulder. “And you have made those two the happiest Monster Hunters in the world.”

“I do what I can.”

“Come on,” he said. “Let everyone else worry and work for the next few hours. You deserve a night off.”

mell, someone had once told Valkyrie, was the single most powerful trigger of memories. Somewhat ironically, she didn’t remember who’d told her that, or why, or where she was when she was told, though she had no reason to doubt the truth of it. But when she woke from her bad dream and walked down the stairs of the house she’d grown up in and the smell of roast chicken was waiting for her, she wasn’t transported back to one particular time or one particular occasion. Instead, memory piled upon memory to form an indistinct sense of warmth and belonging and love and home, and a smile grew up from within her so that when she reached the kitchen she was beaming.